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A short description of the route to the Mount Cook district, and of the topographical features of the Mueller, Hooker, and Tasman Valleys

From Timaru on the east coast the traveller may comfortably reach the glaciers of Aorangi in a two days’ journey.

Leaving Timaru by an evening train, Fairlie Creek (the present terminus of the railway line) is reached, where the night is spent. Two days’ coaching then are required to cross over Burke’s Pass into the great Mackenzie plains, across this great ancient glacier bed, past Lakes Tekapo and Pukaki, over the rivers of the same names, and up the valley of the Tasman River to a comfortable hostelry called ‘The Hermitage,’ nestling right under the shadow of that wonderful pile of ice-clad mountain glory, Mount Sefton.

Lakes Tekapo and Pukaki may both be aptly compared in one way to the Lake of Geneva, in that they are of glacier origin, and purify the rivers which now flow from the present glaciers, parting with their waters again through channels cut in the ancient terminal moraines which dam their respective southern shores.

They are both beautiful, each in its own way— Tekapo sunny, peaceful, and calm; Pukaki awe-inspiring and grand—but they lack the charm of chalet and pine tree, of vine and meadow, which so adorn the shores of the Swiss lakes.

The immediate vicinity of the road is uninteresting, except from a geological point of view, for it winds about amongst old moraines, whose vegetation consists almost entirely of the brown tussock grass so general in the South Island.

Yet the geologist or student of glacier phenomena can read on the surface the history of the formation; roches moutonnées abound, and, in places, old moraines are spread over the bed rock for miles together, whilst erratic blocks are dotted about in various directions, evidencing how extensive has been the action of the ice in ages gone by.

Though the scenes contiguous to the road may fail to charm the eye, the distant panoramas of the glorious Southern Alps cannot fail to draw forth expressions of wonder from the most callous observer. As the Hermitage is approached, and the great peaks and glaciers draw closer and closer, the marvellous grandeur of the chain is gradually realised.

The sight of the reflection of Aorangi in Lake Tekapo, on a calm morning, is something to remember for a lifetime. The subject has long been a favourite one for brush and pen, but no one yet has done it justice.

A substantial bridge spans the exit of the Tekapo River, but only a ferry stage exists at the Pukaki River where it leaves the lake. A wire rope, 450 feet long, is thrown across the stream, to which the ferry stage floating on two punts is attached by runners. The coach and four is driven bodily on to the stage, and by the aid of a rudder the punts are slued so as to point across the stream diagonally. The force of the water rushing obliquely on to the sides of the punts drives the whole affair across in a space of about three or four minutes. This ingenious plan is commonly adopted in the New Zealand rivers.

During the months of winter it is possible to reach the Hermitage direct from Tekapo, and thus avoid striking south to go round Lake Pukaki, by crossing the Tasman River. During summer, however, as a rule, this river is impassable, for it rises so fast during warm and nor’-west weather from rain and melting snow that sometimes the whole bed of the river—two miles wide—is a network of rushing yellow torrents quite unfordable by man or beast.

Readers of the Rev. W. S. Green’s ‘High Alps of New Zealand’ will recollect that his conveyance found a last resting-place in the quicksands of the Tasman. Von Lendenfeld also, the year after Mr. Green, experienced an unhappy week’s delay on the eastern bank of the river. I have myself narrowly escaped drowning at the same point, and in years gone by the Tasman River has been accountable for more than one life.

The river in full flood is a sight to see; the water in places runs fifteen knots an hour, or even more. In the rapids it is piled up in the middle from sudden contraction of the banks, and forms crested billows four or five feet in height, whilst now and then a block of ice from the glacier may be seen bowling along.

The ancient glacier-formed terraces of the Tasman Valley are instructive and interesting. The highest of them are distinctly marked all down the valley for a distance of forty miles from Sebastopol—a large face of ice-worn rock near the Hermitage—on the eastern slopes of the Ben Ohau Range. The story of the ancient glacier can be read as the eye follows these strange terraces from their starting point 2,000 feet above the valley bed, down a gentle declination to the terminus of the Ben Ohau Range.

Before going into the narrative of my five seasons’ climbing amongst the peaks and glaciers around Aorangi, it would be as well for me to describe, as concisely as possible, the general topography of the Mueller, Hooker, and Tasman Glaciers.

We will suppose ourselves in the main Tasman Valley, into which all these glaciers drain, close to the point where the valley first branches. As we look northward, Aorangi and the range running southward for twelve miles from the main body of the mountain bound the view, and divide the valley into two branches. Let us take the one to the north-west first. Proceeding up this valley of the Hooker for a few miles, we arrive at a branch valley from the left or west—the Mueller Valley—completely occupied by the glacier of the same name. Close to the Mueller Glacier is situated the Hermitage, presided over by Mr. F. F. C. Huddleston, a true haven of refuge and comfort for the wearied tourist or mountaineer.

HOOKER VALLEY AND MOUNT SEFTON FROM GOVERNOR’S CAMP

[Wheeler & Son, Photo.

We step on to the Mueller Glacier, here completely covered by moraine, and, turning westwards, strike up its course. On our right, 8,500 feet above us, clad in ice and snow and glittering in the sunlight, rises the glorious mass of Mount Sefton, showering down avalanches upon the glacier. On our left the shingle slips from the rotten and crumbling crags of the Sealy Range. It is possible for tourists who are good walkers to reach the head of this glacier, which is seven and a half miles long and about one mile broad, in one day. The moraine gives way to the clear ice some three miles or so from the terminal face. Now we return and make a fresh start up the Hooker Valley due northwards from the Hermitage.

Crossing the Mueller Glacier we walk through a perfect garden of lilies (_ranunculus Lyallii_), celmisias, ‘Spaniards,’ and an endless variety of sub-alpine plants, for a distance of about one mile from the northern side of the Mueller Glacier, when we come to the terminal moraine-covered face of the Hooker Glacier.

On our right rises up the bold and verdure clad snow-topped Mount Cook Range, Mount Wakefield (6,561 feet), Mount Mabel (6,868 feet), Mount Rosa (6,987 feet), and a nameless peak (7,540 feet) being the principal points of interest. On our left is the northern continuation of the ridge of Mount Sefton, known as the Moorhouse Range, part of the main chain of the Southern Alps. Several secondary glaciers descend from the slopes, but do not reach the bed of the valley below, which is filled from side to side with the Hooker Glacier.

Proceeding up the surface of the glacier we get on to the clear ice, and now on either bank the mountains rise to a great height. On the right Aorangi suddenly rears itself, from a point known as the Ball Saddle (7,500 feet), to 12,349 feet in one stupendous rocky ridge, upon which the ice hangs wherever it can get any hold. This ridge is known to climbers as the Great Southern _arête_, and has been found, first by Mr. Green and secondly by myself, to be inaccessible. Right ahead of us pour down from the highest crags the Mona, Noeline, and Empress Glaciers, to join the Hooker, alternating with very precipitous rocky ridges which present every appearance of being quite unscalable.

Several attempts have been made by surveyors and others to reach the saddle at the head of the Hooker, but it was only in December 1890 that the efforts of two climbers (Mr. A. P. Harper and Mr. R. Blakiston) were rewarded. The expedition can only be attempted with any chance of success in the early part of the season, when the numberless crevasses are yet covered with the winter snow.

From the Hooker Glacier we turn our faces downwards to the south again, and pay a visit to the north-eastern branch of the main Tasman Valley.

Crossing the Hooker River at the terminal point of the Mount Cook Range, where a cage swung on a wire rope over the river now facilitates the traveller’s passage, we strike north-eastwards up the valley.

For a distance of four miles our way leads over the shingle and boulder flats of the Tasman river-bed, here some two miles wide. Patches of good sheep-feed consisting of tussock and cocksfoot grass (the latter sown by an early settler) occur on the western side of the valley, but the river as a rule washes the opposite slopes.

AORANGI: MOUNT COOK AND THE HOOKER GLACIER.

[Wheeler & Son, Photo.

Arriving at the terminal face of the glacier we strike up a small valley between the western lateral slopes of the moraine of the glacier and the Mount Cook Range on our left, and for a distance of about seven or eight miles force our way through dense scrub and loose boulders from the moraine and mountain slopes, to the junction of the Ball Glacier with the Tasman. This Ball Glacier comes from the Great Southern _arête_ of Aorangi, and is fed almost entirely by avalanches, there being no snow-fields—or névés as they are called in Alpine parlance—of any great extent at its head.

From this point upwards we strike out on to the ice on our right, and another seven miles or so brings us to a further division of the valley, Mount de la Bêche being the dividing peak. The glacier of the left-hand or northern branch is known as the Rudolf Glacier, whilst the main body of the Tasman stretches some six miles further north-eastwards to the Hochstetter Dome, where it again divides. The saddle at the head of the left-hand branch, again, has been reached by Dr. von Lendenfeld and by myself in our respective ascents of the Hochstetter Dome, and commands a superb view of the Whymper Glacier and valley, and of the Wataroa River on the west coast. The head of the branch to the right of the Hochstetter Dome has not yet been reached by man.

Taking a retrospective glance again at the peaks on either hand, and commencing at the lower end of the glacier, we have first on our right the Liebig Range till opposite the Ball Glacier, when the embouchure of the Murchison Valley occurs, followed by the Malte Brun Range, with the main peak—the Matterhorn of New Zealand—opposite to Mount de la Bêche, then the Darwin Glacier followed by the mountain of the same name, and then the saddle between Mount Darwin and the Hochstetter Dome.

Now, again, on the left or western side of the great glacier we have the Mount Cook Range for ten miles, the Ball Glacier, Aorangi, the Hochstetter Glacier, Mounts Tasman, Haast, Haidinger, Glacier Peak, Mounts Spencer, Kant, Rudolf (at the head of the Rudolf Glacier), De la Bêche, Green, and Elie de Beaumont, the last followed by the Lendenfeld Saddle, to which I have already referred.

From Mount Tasman northwards to this saddle all these mountains are situated in the main chain. Aorangi itself, though popularly believed to belong to the main divide, is in reality separated from it by a rocky ridge and a saddle of about 10,500 feet, which leads to the Hooker Glacier on the one hand and the Linda on the other, both being east of the main divide. Aorangi itself, therefore, consists of a divergent ridge, the whole of whose drainage goes eastward.

Though for some years I have believed this to be the case, it is only quite recently that I have been able to substantiate the belief by ocular demonstration, when the ascent of the mountain was accomplished by Mr. Dixon and myself. To this expedition I shall refer later on.

The reader must picture to himself the great Tasman Glacier, nearly two miles in width and eighteen to twenty in length, occupying the whole of the bed of the valley, and fed on both sides by numerous tributary ice streams from the mountains.

Of the Murchison Valley it is not necessary for me to speak just now, as the topographical features will be described when I come to tell the story of its exploration. Neither is it needful to refer in further detail to the Tasman for the same reason.